


PLEASURES WITH PICARD (PWP)

by mabb5



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabb5/pseuds/mabb5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly and Jean-Luc go to Risa for an admiral's conference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PLEASURES WITH PICARD (PWP)

Dear Readers,

I am back after spending three years dealing with a 12 year old computer, lack of internet, and ongoing health issues. I have been writing. I just haven’t been posting. But now that I have a new computer - I am going from Vista Basic to Windows 10 - I should be able to start uploading everything in the coming weeks. So if you notice any formatting problems, please let me know. It’s been a long time since I have had to deal with the vagaries of posting stuff. More edited versions of this story is on fan fic.

A.N. This is a stand-alone story that fits into the series “De-Tached: Life with Beverly”. In that a/u, this story occurs about nine months after the birth of the Picard twins, Anna and William. Jean-Luc is an admiral who is the head of Starfleet Academy. Beverly is an admiral in charge of creating Starfleet’s newest fleet of hospital/catastrophic rescue starships.

Winston Holt Wiley is the head of Starfleet. He is married to Lwaxana Troi.

It is not necessary for you to have read any of those “Life with Beverly” stories in order to make sense of what this one is. It is what the title implies - an adult ‘pwp’ lagniappe with just a little bit of plot thrown into the mix.

All the usual disclaimers apply. It’s Paramount’s property but fandom’s playground.

And please, a review or two would be greatly appreciated.

　

Pleasures with Picard

(PWP)

Chapter One

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

Kick.

Snap.

Sizzle.

Twizzle.

Pose.

(Beat)

(Beat)

Hip thrust.

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

“Jean-Luc?”

“Yes, mon coeur?”

“Do you remember when we were on our honeymoon?”

He paused, and looked up from the book that had momentarily piqued his interest. There was something about Beverly’s expression that instantly captured his attention. It took a nanosecond for him to decide that Beverly’s question was of a serious enough nature that he had better place his detective Peter Wimsey novel aside and discover whatever it was that was troubling his wife. Carefully resting his open book on top of the Chippendale book table (so that the spine would not be broken) beside his navy velvet upholstered rolled arm chair in their bedroom, he then dutifully answered, “Yes, mon coeur?”

She stopped fussing over some pieces of clothing and dropped a chemise onto her side of their bed. “I said, ‘do you remember our honeymoon’?”

Wondering if this was some sort of trick question though he could think of nothing that he might have recently done to rouse Beverly’s sense of deviousness, he again dutifully answered, “Every memorable moment of it, mon coeur.”

A soft smile crossed over her lips, beguiling her husband yet again with some of her more elusive, yet promising intentions. “That’s not what I meant,” she answered, even as she pointedly glanced down at their unmade bed, and then back over to his face before lowering her gaze - briefly - to his lap.

He felt the inkling of a flush breaking across his cheeks even as he viscerally responded to her sensual, knowing glance. He then understood that he had once again, momentarily forgotten how ‘earthy’ Beverly could be on occasion. His innate reserve still had to do battle with the day-to-day intimacies of living with Beverly as his wife. Never mind that he had just been sharing the pleasures of the nuptial bed with his wife, succumbing to them but yet half an hour earlier on this lazy Sunday morning. He still wasn’t instinctively quite used to being in Beverly’s presence most of the time in spite of the fact that their two year anniversary of when they had become lovers was almost three weeks away.

Beverly pulled her favorite turquoise embroidered silk robe about her, tightening the belt. Then she strolled over to the foot of the bed, moved aside some of the counterpane, and sat on its cerulean blue quilted edge, crossing her bare legs.

Slightly disappointed that he could no longer glimpse his beloved’s body within the shadows of her long silk robe, Jean-Luc sat up more stiffly, and leaned forward, toward his wife. “What did you mean?”

“Oh, something about repeating certain activities of our honeymoon over and over again…”

“Lately, we’ve been repeating certain activities, quite a bit.” He couldn’t control the sense of masculine satisfaction that raced along his veins as he contemplated just how well and how often, they had been repeating them.

She understood his reaction even as frissons of lust spiked through her veins as well. “I know. But not quite.” And before he could start asking questions, she added with a most loving smile, “And I am not complaining, my darling.” She looked about their various shades of blue and cream bedroom with its Oriental rugs, and period style Morris wall papers for a moment before commenting, “Still, don’t you think that our life is a bit too structured for us?”

He considered her words. “Between Anna and William, your job, my job, and the restrictions of life in Starfleet not to mention the onerous weight of being admirals, how can it be anything other than structured?” He shrugged. “It would not take much for our life together to descend into chaos if we did not have our plans, our routines and our schedules. We have to stick to them. Such is our life.”

“Jean-Luc, between you and Mildred, you even have plans for contingency plans when our life does descend into chaos.”

“But of course.” He still couldn’t see Beverly’s point.

She audibly sighed, knowing that her husband was being a dense male at this moment. “Jean-Luc, don’t you remember on our honeymoon that we swore that we would never let the routines of our lives completely overtake us to the point that we would forget how to be spontaneous?”

“Especially when it comes to sex,” he wryly added as he recalled more than one incident of his wife’s shameless impetuousness.

She sent him a telling glare before she displayed another amused smile. “Exactly. The time has come…”

This time, he pointedly gazed at her knotted belt, lingering at the shadowed gap of fabric by her thighs, before returning his eyes to his wife’s face.

“Down, boy,” she teased, even as she had to force her hand away from her robe’s belt as she automatically responded to his silent suggestion before she had a chance to think about it. “We don’t have time for that now. I’m meeting Lwaxana for brunch. The lady and I are making plans.”

“Plans?” This time, his curiosity was aroused as he momentarily tamped aside his current inclinations.

“Risa.” She knew that he would be bothered over her use of that planet’s name, especially in conjunction with the Ambassadress from Betazed’s name, though his outward appearance displayed no sign of his concern.

“Ri-sa?”

She affirmed his fears. “Risa. The Admiralty’s conference on female gender issues and the possibility of feminine inequality in Starfleet, the Federation, the universe and beyond.”

Beverly had said a mouthful. It took Jean-Luc a moment to process her words.

“When is this? And why would Lwaxana Troi-Wiley wish to be involved in such a symposium?” He suddenly shook his head, ruefully admitting, “Forget that I said that. Knowing Lwaxana, her definition of the word ‘symposium’ is the ancient one meaning that a symposium is a conference dedicated to drinking non-syntheholic beverages and the philosophical discussions of sex.”

“The raunchier, the better,” Beverly added. “Lwaxana has already ordered quite a few cases of Château Picard wine from Marie to be sent directly to Risa. Marie has sent me a message about it.”

“No doubt Lwaxana is requesting that those cases of wine be complimentary?”

“I think that you know Holt’s wife too well, Jean-Luc. Should I be jealous?” She waggled her naked toes with their Passionate Plum opalescent nail polish in his general direction to emphasize her words.

Jean-Luc’s response to his wife’s teasing was to swiftly rise, and stride over to her to grab her about the waist, pulling her backwards onto their bed. He followed her down, using the pressure of his body to keep her from moving away from underneath him.

She duly noted that she had aroused the ‘savage beast’, so that she was yet again impressed by his post-coital recovery time. The medical professional portion of her brain decided that her husband’s physical fitness conditioning was definitely improving. He most unquestionably was succeeding in leaving his ‘baby fat’ from their shared pregnancy behind…

“Don’t you think that I should be the one who is jealous since you are apparently planning a trip to Risa minus the presence of your loving husband?” he whispered into her right ear before his tongue stroked behind her lobe. Then he lightly bit her ear. “Especially before our anniversary?”

“What anniversary?” She knew she had another six months to go before their wedding anniversary.

Then her husband nipped another spot on her neck. “How could you forget?” he teased before he bit her ear.

“What?” she gasped even as she shivered under his touch. Her blood was heating now. Her body was beginning to insist on the succor that only this man could give her. She shifted in his arms to bring him closer.

“We’ll have been lovers for two remarkable years,” he murmured.

Beverly shivered before she pulled herself together enough so that she could coherently respond to her husband.

“The conference on Risa?” he too-casually mentioned again before he licked her ear again, pleased with the way her body trembled in response to this touch.

“I can bring a personal assistant to the Admiral’s Conference. Care to be my ‘personal assistant’, Jean-Luc?” she purred. “Can you just drop everything and rearrange your schedule to go with me in two weeks? Risa would be a memorable place to celebrate our anniversary…”

Then, before he could actually consider her request much less give Beverly the response that she wanted, Beverly distracted him by demonstrating just how very well she now knew her husband; she knew just where to touch him as a prelude for more love making on this quiet Sunday.

Both were invitations that he would not refuse as he permitted Beverly to unfasten his khaki slacks. He mused, whilst he was still rational, before he thrust home into Beverly’s loving body, that if there was one thing that he knew about Lwaxana Troi-Wiley, Beverly making love with her husband in the morning was a very acceptable excuse for Beverly being slightly late for her luncheon date with the ambassadress.

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

Nuzzle.

Lick.

Bite.

Nibble.

Suck.

Kiss.

Nip.

(Beat)

Then nip again.

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

It was not that Admiral Jean-Luc Picard was an unreasonable man. He knew exactly whom it was that he had married. Beverly, with all of her glorious quirks, was the source of most of the aggravating, maddening, and/or exasperating feelings in his life. Most of the time, he relished every moment of it too.

But when she had called him aloud, her ‘cabana boy’ before dragging him into their quarters from which they never once emerged during the three day trip that it took to reach Risa from Earth on board the U.S.S. Mercer, he had thought that he’d been the only person to hear Beverly’s new nickname for him. He was in error. Apparently Lwaxana Troi had overheard ‘cabana boy’ as well. And far be it for anyone to expect Lwaxana Troi-Wiley to practice discretion. As all the admirals were checking into their Risian ultra-luxury hotel, Jean-Luc distinctly heard Admiral Alynna Nechayev refer to Beverly’s ‘personal assistant’ as her cabana boy.

Beverly was highly amused.

Jean-Luc was not.

So he had to get his revenge, if only to soothe a sorely-tried male ego. The moment they were alone in their luxury suite, he seduced his wife, indulging himself with a stroking tongue and hot, possessive kisses to the point where she was begging him. Begging him at first, for him to keep on pleasuring her as he licked all over her body, fingering her mound with a skill that drove her wild. Then, Beverly was begging him to stop, for she could take no more as the orgasms kept coming, overwhelming everything else.

Giving his wife a slight respite as he settled himself more comfortably between her thighs, the only things her pleadings and the occasional push of her hands against his shoulders did was to encourage Jean-Luc into more pleasuring of his wife as he thoroughly kissed and suckled every millimeter of sensitive flesh in her labia majora and labia minora. Only when he was finally tired, did he raise his head, and look with determined satisfaction straight into Beverly’s exasperated, exhausted expression.

“Why?” she gasped, even as she watched her husband move up her body till his manhood was finally resting in the cradle of her thighs. Though tired, she still felt desire as she placed her legs on the back of her husband’s strong runner’s legs, stroking her feet up and down the muscles. She repeated herself, “Why?” as she lifted her hips to assist Jean-Luc with his lovemaking. For Jean-Luc had never been quite this ruthless before in their eternal war between the sexes.

“Ca-ba-na boy!” was his four syllable explanation before he vigorously thrust himself into Beverly’s welcoming albeit weary body.

She was so focused as to what he was doing to her as she decided to let him do the majority of the work when it came to this particular lovemaking session before she actually realized what he had said. Even as she was becoming absorbed in the way that her husband was kissing her breasts and rousing her body one more time, “Oh, shit!” was Beverly’s last coherent thought. Jean-Luc wasn’t going to forget ‘cabana boy’… Or forgive…

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

He poked his recumbent wife in the ribs with his knobby elbow.

“Five more minutes,” was her response as she rolled toward his warmth, suggestively draping a naked leg across his bare hip.

“You forgot to set your alarm.”

“We’re on Risa. I thought alarms were against the law, here,” Beverly mumbled, as she tried to prove once again to Jean-Luc, that she was indeed ‘insatiable’.

“You have a lecture in less than sixty minutes,” he reminded her, as he did his best to ignore what his wife was trying to do to his body.

“Nobody is going to be there,” she mumbled against the tempting flesh of her husband’s chest. She knew just how to nip his nipples to urge him into a frenzy.

“Beverly.” He said her name with great amusement and exasperation. “You were the head of Starfleet Medical. You authored the unofficial bible on how to become a great CMO when you were on board the Enterprise. And now, you are the rear admiral in charge of the new Federation hospital fleet. Any way you examine your career, you are a doctor of considerable importance and influence. Someone is going to be there expecting to hear your speech.”

“No, they are not. And especially not if they’re really doctors.” Her grin actually was lascivious as she contemplated where else on her husband’s body she could nuzzle.

“Huh?” He was confused as well as bemused by what Beverly was now trying to do to him.

“Did you read the title of my so-called lecture?”

He had to admit that he hadn’t paid attention to that detail. “Uh, no, mon coeur.” And then he gasped, “Beverly!” as she slid down his body to kiss his manhood. He hadn’t been expecting such a brazen, frontal assault at this stage of their mating game.

She lifted her head, deliberately letting her long burnished red hair tickle certain husbandly body parts with great success. “It’s about the sexual repression of the female Amoebeae on Piraeus IV,” she primly informed him before she returned to licking his cock.

It took more than a few moments before Beverly’s words registered in Jean-Luc’s feverish brain. Then he made the mistake of sitting up thereby surprising Beverly during her lingual ministrations. He yelped when her teeth unwittingly grazed his rigid flesh.

Realizing what she had done, Beverly licked it to make it better before she raised her too-knowing eyes to stare into her husband’s confused gaze.

“But the Amoebeae are asexual!” he complained before he suddenly comprehended what his wife had really done. She’d chosen a nonsense subject for her lecture. He glared down at her - the best that he could considering the pleasure she was bestowing upon him at this moment.

“Precisely my point, my darling. They don’t have gender issues, much less sexual repressions,” she announced before returning to soothing his masculinity - and then some.

“And the Admiralty planning committee approved the subject matter for this lecture?” Jean-Luc did not even think that any planning committee for a Risa convention would be this blatant.

Beverly raised her head, deciding that at this moment, Jean-Luc was just not that interested in what she had been doing to him. Clearly he would rather talk to her at this minute. Using a tone of voice that Jean-Luc did not normally associate with bedroom games, Beverly explained with just a hint of annoyance, “Actually, the planning committee gave me a whole list of titles of former lectures for this convention, to see what would appeal to me. The Amoebeae were on the list. They highly recommended this topic - especially since every convention for the past ten years has had the exact same title for the lecture that never was… It’s a tradition, so to speak…”

Jean-Luc contemplated her words even as his wife was doing her best to arouse other interests for him. “Other than a shocking waste of Starfleet resources, is anything about this Risian convention actually legitimate?” For Jean-Luc Picard had really thought that the head of Starfleet, Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley had only been jesting years ago when the admiral had described another similar annual admiral’s conference on Risa that he had regularly attended. Apparently Risian ‘faux-conventions’ such as this one, were an admiralty tradition.

Beverly lifted her head even as she tried to quell her annoyance of her husband’s tenacity. “Well, there is one lecture I might attend.” Now, she had surprised him judging by the expression in his eyes.

“Do tell.”

“It’s about the admiralty and its attitude toward mothers who are also admirals. Not that we’re going to do any in-depth discussion here on Risa. But it would be nice to know who is inclined to be sympathetic to the subject.” Beverly then considered further distractions for her husband. “There’s an unofficial poker tournament that is a tradition, too.”

“Strip?”

“Possibly.”

“Probably,” he grumbled as he considered the nature of the planet which they were visiting.

“Certainly if Lwaxana plays,” Beverly just had to wickedly add. She watched her husband blench. Suddenly her grin was rather knowing. “I’ve been told that spouses are not invited - but that cabana boys could be…”

He could only telegraph his outraged indignation with a single glare. Though Captain Riker would attend such a poker party with great enthusiasm, Jean-Luc Picard was not about to be the sole male in attendance regardless of the potential for nudity. Jean-Luc did not wish in the slightest, to see most of the admirals in attendance at the convention, naked. Besides, there was only one woman in the universe to whom he would grant permission to try and beat the pants off of him - and it was not Lwaxana…

Beverly chose to ignore his displeasure. She would be making it up to him momentarily. She mused with a rather sultry voice, “And then there is the cocktail party. It’s mandatory that I attend with my personal assistant.”

At this bit of news, Jean-Luc snorted. Loudly. “Will I be the only ‘personal assistant’ there?”

“Probably not since your invitation was addressed to ‘Admiral’ Picard. And if Lwaxana is to be believed, Holt will be showing up shortly.”

Jean-Luc groaned again. His dismay was evident on his face even as he also finally began to realize that this conversation had distracted Beverly from what she had been doing to him but moments ago. This time, his groan held a decided note of frustration in it.

She lightly caressed his testicles and tapped his tip, as if to promise that she would return to his pleasuring in but a few more minutes. “Believe it or not, Holt won’t make too much of a fuss. Lwaxana unfortunately told me her agenda for the man when he does finally show up.” Beverly arched an eyebrow as she dutifully informed her husband of said agenda. “Apparently, Lwaxana’s Phase is entering a rather strong, needy phase, so to speak. She thought that Holt being surrounded by doctors within easy call might help him survive should anything untoward happen during their marathon lovemaking sessions.”

Jean-Luc moaned again. “That was something that I did not need to hear.”

“Better Holt than you,” Beverly opined.

“What?” Her words had startled him.

“With Lwaxana, I mean.” Her grin was too-knowing as she recalled certain embarrassing incidents. “I may have officially ignored Lwaxana’s little attempts to catch a husband or four on board the Enterprise, but that does not mean that I wasn’t aware of the fact that the ambassadress was trying to get you naked every chance that she could.” She stroked him to emphasize why she was glad that he was now naked and pliable, in her hands. “You were quite fortunate that she never caught you.” Her grin broadened as she then informed her husband, “Though just because she is now married to Holt does not mean that she has stopped trying to trap you when you’re naked.”

Her words somewhat shocked him. Jean-Luc thought that no one else had ever noticed Lwaxana’s ongoing relentless campaign to see him literally out of uniform.

Then Beverly returned to her unfinished task of bestowing on her husband his gratification, as he was left to briefly ponder the treacheries of life before succumbing to the intoxicating power of her lips.

Later, as Beverly mounted then rode him yet one more time, all she could whisper was, “Happy Anniversary, darling.”

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

Step.

Prance.

Step

Prance.

Hip thrust.

Pause.

Shimmy.

Shake.

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

Beverly arched an eyebrow as she studied her husband, standing in the sliding doorway that led to their very secluded, private lush tropical garden with its therapeutic hot waters, swimming pool and waterfall. This certainly was one of the most luxurious hotel suites in which she had ever resided. It was even more opulent than the suite that she had shared with Jean-Luc on their honeymoon, for this suite boasted its own private holodeck.

She duly noted his towel, and the novel that he was clutching in one hand. She also duly noted that her husband was one hundred percent naked. She wisely hid her smile as she considered what this could mean.

Jean-Luc took a step into the looming darkness of the suite.

“Went skinny dipping, eh?” was all that she asked.

“Last night was so enjoyable with you, that I thought that I would try it again. Swimming naked is a fond memory from my youth, too,” He suddenly grinned like he was eighteen again as he took another step closer. “…especially when I became a teenager.”

She correctly interpreted his expression. “Something tells me that there was a good reason that your father despaired of your behavior - especially when there were teenage girls around.”

Jean-Luc decided that Beverly knew a wee bit too much about teenage boys and their skinny dipping activities. But then Jean-Luc considered that his bride had been the mother of a teen age son which he naively deduced was the source of all of her knowledge about such behavior. He was still puzzled though. “Somehow, I can’t envision Wesley doing everything that I did in my youth.”

“Neither can I,” Beverly quickly agreed. “Though Wesley has gone skinny dipping in his past, I don’t think that he has done it lately. Or rendezvoused with any skinny-dipping teenage girls that I know about, either,” the mother added under her breath. “Worf and Geordie used to take Wesley swimming on board the Enterprise. Considering how shy Wesley was when he was younger, I was rather surprised to learn that Klingons swim in the nude. And that Wesley went anyway.”

Jean-Luc mulled over her words. “I think that Worf was attempting to provide for Wesley a proper, suitable warrior role model for Wesley to emulate. Worf was always concerned about the influences upon the boy and sought to instruct Wes just as Sergei had often done for him when Worf was growing up.” Jean-Luc recollected something else. “I once went swimming with Worf on the Klingon home world. It is not an experience that I wish to repeat.” He then took another step closer to his wife, finally stepping out of the shadows and into the afternoon sunlight that was streaming through one panel of the floor to ceiling glass walls. “So, how was your lecture?”

“In spite of this being an enlightened era, men are still pigs when it comes to sharing the responsibilities of child rearing with their wives - even when the wife is an admiral.” She still hid her amusement at her husband’s now obvious condition even as he took another step closer to her. She was waiting for Jean-Luc to simply state what he wanted. Needed. But she also recognized that he was a stubborn cuss. Not to mention that it was difficult for him to confess to committing any personal foolishness, especially to his wife.

“Surely our preparations for our children are sufficient?” Concern filled his voice as he considered the possibility that maybe Beverly wasn’t quite teasing him with her ‘all men are pigs’ attitude.

“No, darling. Not sufficient. Our arrangements for Will and Anna are excellent. But look at what it took to achieve such a state!” She waved her hand to silence his protests. “And yes, I know that the twins need exceptional care because of their abilities. But still, if it weren’t for Ryllis, Guinan, Lwaxana, Mildred and Marie arranging matters, where would we be? More specifically, where would I be? I know where - I’d still be on maternity leave trying to cope with nary a consideration for my career or my duty. As well as being overwhelmingly grateful whenever Marie could baby-sit.”

She watched him instinctively wince even as he sat down beside her and clasped her hand, lightly running his thumb over her palm.

“Beverly…”

“I’m not complaining. I know that I am a most fortunate woman because I married you. But still, there are many who just aren’t that lucky.”

He considered her words. “Then you’ll just have to do something to improve a mother’s lot when they are working on board the medical fleet ships, won’t you?”

“I have a few ideas,” she agreed. Then she leaned back to really inspect her still naked husband from head to toe. “Do let me guess. You went swimming, and then decided to sunbathe for a few minutes to dry off, didn’t you?”

He hesitated before nodding his head. Sometimes Beverly just knew too damn much…

“You forgot to put on your sun screen, didn’t you?”

“I was only going to rest for a few minutes,” he sheepishly admitted.

“You fell asleep.” Her words were not a question for she saw the visible proof of it all over the front of his body.

He nodded his head again.

Beverly stood, so Jean-Luc did likewise. She slapped his hip and watched him try not to wince. Then she visually examined all his red skin with a doctor’s eye before she somewhat unsympathetically observed, “Pity you didn’t use your book to cover your groin up… That’s going to be ‘fun’ curing.” This time she saw him instinctively, visibly wince. “Well then, I guess I’d better go get my dermal regenerator from my medical shore leave survival kit.” She walked toward their bedroom, mumbling to herself. But what she said was distinctly loud enough for Jean-Luc to hear. “You should have dozed off under the cabana… cabana boy…”

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

It was not that Jean-Luc hated cocktail parties. He knew that once an officer achieved a certain rank, they were a necessary evil of belonging to the upper echelons of Starfleet or even of the Diplomatic Corps. But he was quickly beginning to abhor casual dress Admiralty cocktail parties held at preposterous conventions such as this one on Risa. The only obvious purpose for this function was so that the admirals could attempt to recapture their youth - in short, to party like they were still cadets.

Clearly the atmosphere of this convention was ‘anything goes’. More than one admiral that had tried to corner him into a conversation about the merits of Russian vodka versus Bolian moonshine, Vulcan tantric sexual acts versus jamaharon, or which admiral’s yacht was bigger and better and faster, was frustrated because Beverly kept rescuing her husband from their banal, inappropriate conversation with her usual style plus a few hints alluding to not-that-subtle discussions of upcoming yearly physicals.

Matters weren’t helped by the fact that almost everyone with whom Jean-Luc had conversed so far, was clearly influenced by the fact that they were ‘partying’ on Risa. He doubted that one in ten of the admirals at this party were close to being actually sober. Or, to phrase it another way, he’d never seen a happy, convivial Alynna Nechayev before.

Admiral Alynna Nechayev was holding tightly onto the arm of her civilian husband as if he were a prize that she had to display to every other female admiral that was there by dragging the poor spouse about the room. And there was a bemused enough grin on the man that indicated that he was cheerfully letting his wife do it.

Clearly, Alynna Nechayev had hidden depths, Jean-Luc mused as he realized that he actually was unsettled by the notion of a mellow Admiral Nechayev. He knew how to cope with the stern, no-nonsense, occasionally duplicitous, phasers a’blazin’ Admiral Nechayev. But a giddy, overtly friendly Alynna was enough to send him running, searching for the nearest admiralty finance committee meeting where he could hide in order to get away from such an unnatural, unholy apparition. The strip poker game that had just started in an adjacent suite was suddenly becoming an acceptable alternative to the cocktail party…

He went in search of refuge and found an appropriate location on a padded bench that had a somewhat loud and flamboyant tropical motif in the far corner of the party suite, away from the bar. Jean-Luc sipped his wine seated next to several large, fuchsia colored bromeliad spears. He nursed a rather outsized goblet filled with one of his brother’s finest cabernets, as he watched his wife flit about and socialize. Beverly excelled at this activity. Jean-Luc was somewhat self-conscious over the fact that in spite of his years of experience, he did not.

A moment later his solitude was disturbed. A tall, very handsome man with sandy, braided long hair, approached Jean-Luc’s hidey hole. The man looked like he belonged on Risa. He was the holo-image poster boy of the planet’s temptations. Jean-Luc tried not to dislike him on sight if only because of the man’s luxuriant hair. And because the last time he had seen this individual, he had been the ornament on Alynna Nechayev’s arm.

The man was grasping a crystal goblet as large as the stemware that Jean-Luc was holding. The scent of a very old, very respectable Irish whiskey wafted over to Jean-Luc.

“I’m Harriman,” the man cheerfully announced as he silently motioned toward a seat next to Jean-Luc. “John Harriman Nelson.”

The only sign that Jean-Luc recognized the famous name was with a slight stiffening of his upper body, even as he reluctantly nodded his permission for the man to sit down.

The intruder noted the reaction to his familiar name. “My father thought that naming me after a naval admiral who was one of his more famous ancestors as well as another ancestor who was the former captain of the Enterprise B, would inspire me to join Starfleet,” the man jovially explained. “Instead I ran toward the arts as fast as my spindly legs could carry me.” He jerked his head toward a gaggle of admirals. “Which is why, of course, I found myself married to a Starfleet admiral.”

Jean-Luc hesitantly nodded. “Opposites attract, I suppose?”

“You could say that.” He flashed his perfect, gleaming white teeth. “I’m a sculptor, by the way, by trade.” He extended his hand toward Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc politely shook the man’s hand. He glanced down at Beverly’s honeymoon present to him that he was wearing - a rather loudly colored scarlet shirt with neon colored patterns of all sorts of rocket ships. “In spite of my attire, I am actually an admiral, by the way, by trade.”

Mr. Nelson looked a bit surprised as he took in the pink, red and lime green shirt and khaki slacks. “I thought someone told me that you were an over-dressed cabana boy.”

Jean-Luc mentally conceded an ‘I’ll get even’ intention point toward Beverly. “Did that ‘someone’ by chance, have glorious red hair?”

“Flaming red gold, indeed. And dressed in a rather extraordinary short-short sapphire tunic.”

Jean-Luc understood why the man had appreciated Beverly’s very short dress. He did too. Her gorgeous legs were on prominent display.

“Don’t tell me she’s an admiral too…” Jean-Luc simply smiled in response. Harriman chuckled as he observed Jean-Luc’s long-suffering expression barely hidden behind the smile. “I take it that the lady guided me down a garden path akin to bazaar shopping on Ferenginar?”

“The lady has a very wicked and very warped sense of humor. And she’s also very much my wife.”

Harriman gave a low whistle of congratulations. “Lucky man,” Harriman cheerfully observed.

Jean-Luc then realized he’d forgotten to introduce himself. “I’m Jean-Luc Picard, by the way.”

Harriman jerked his head back toward the gaggle of admirals. “Alynna’s my wife. Usually I stay a million parsecs away from this sort of party. But since this conference was being held on Risa, I promised Alynna that I’d come for a few nights. Alynna likes Risa. And I have come to appreciate that fact very much for there is blessed little else that Alynna actually likes when it comes to enjoying herself.”

Jean-Luc almost choked on a sip of wine when he figured out that statement’s implications.

The man chuckled some more. “I can tell by the expression on your face, that you think that I’m not the sort of husband that Alynna would have married.” Jean-Luc searched for a polite response but the man continued speaking. “I get that sort of reaction all the time whenever I deign to mingle with over-stuffed Starfleet brass, present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course,” Jean-Luc dutifully murmured.

The artist then took a large swig of his whiskey before continuing. “In spite of my disrespectful opinion of Starfleet’s finest, my attitude hasn’t hurt Alynna’s career too much.”

“I’ve never heard anyone say anything negative about you,” Jean-Luc stated, even as he privately got over the fact that Alynna might actually be married to a human being.

“You should be around Alynna when I start discussin’ the Prime Directive. She’s been known to bribe me in order to shut me up.”

“I wish that would work on my wife,” Jean-Luc muttered since an argument with Beverly over the Prime Directive was not exactly an unfamiliar occurrence in his life too.

“Chocolate works with Alynna,” Harriman carelessly confessed.

Jean-Luc did not really wish to learn that Alynna Nechayev could actually be human. “I thought that it was with Bularian canapés.”

“Oh, that works too. Though in our household they are hard to come by.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t believe in replicators.”

Jean-Luc choked on his wine, before he carefully placed the goblet back down on a nearby metal sculptured table that had four legs which were a full-relief depiction of members doing an Andorian ritual that depicted mating . He just had to know. “Alynna cooks?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Harriman laughed. “In order to be on the safe side, I do the cooking when she’s home. Or our kids get take-out.”

Jean-Luc froze. Somehow he had never imagined Alynna Nechayev as a mother. “Children? How many?”

“Alynna has two from her first two marriages and I have a teenage daughter. And then there is the precocious darling baby girl that I had with Alynna.” He shook his head in admiration as he explained, “On the positive side, Alynna really knows how to handle teenagers. Out of necessity, all of our kids have learned how to cook . Alynna thought that they should learn basic survival skills.”

“That is something with which I agree,” Jean-Luc readily approved even as he tried to get used to the idea of a maternal Nechayev. He focused his thoughts. “I’m the Superintendent at the Academy, when I am not attending conventions such as this one. And I am constantly astounded by the number of very bright applicants who don’t seem to have a grasp about the reality of living life in any world, much less in Starfleet.” He considered some more of Harriman’s statements. “Teenagers?”

“Yep. Alynna’s oldest boy Alain, will be graduating high school this year.”

This information somewhat surprised Jean-Luc. For as long as he had known Alynna Nechayev, she had seemed ageless, but he would not have guessed that she was young enough to be the mother of teenagers. “And he has not taken any of the entrance exams for the Academy? I’m sure I would have noticed…”

Harriman interrupted him. “Alain used his father’s surname. He didn’t want anyone to know the identity of his mother.” He chuckled. “That kid always wants to do things the hard way…”

The Superintendent of the Academy slowly nodded his head, appreciating this unknown young man’s courage and principles. Would that more applicants had this boy’s sense of ethics rather than trying to skirt by the Academy’s requirements because they were legacy candidates who had someone of influence in Starfleet as a family member. “An understandable and admirable point of view.”

“Maybe. He passed the exams, but he has yet in point of fact, to tell his mother that he is actually going.” Alain drank some more whiskey and savored it for a moment. “Personally, I don’t think that the kid really knows what he wants to do with his life.”

Jean-Luc understood this point of view too. “Personally, I failed the first time I tried out for the Academy. The following year before I applied again, was impetus for me to really focus on what I truly wanted my future to be. And what was necessary for me to accomplish it. Perhaps your stepson just needs more time to be thoughtful about his future.”

Harriman laughed. “I agree with you. But Alynna thinks that if the kid takes another year, he is dilly-dallying. And that he won’t make admiral by thirty like she did.”

Jean-Luc snorted over this statement though he was not that surprised by Alynna’s attitude. “Usually the ambitious strive for being a captain at thirty.”

“Not in Alynna’s play book for my stepson’s future.”

Jean-Luc considered his words. “It can’t be easy for any child to have such a… determined woman as Alynna as a mother.”

Harriman eyed the man sitting next to him, sensing a companionship about that man that he would have never guessed could have existed considering the way that Alynna had always privately referenced this former starship captain. “I see that your reputation as a diplomat is actually accurate.” He finished off his whiskey before continuing. “She loves her kids, but she also terrifies them terribly, at the same time. Once I married Alynna, I made it my goal to make Alynna see that some times, she just needs to give her kids a chance to be kids.”

“That is a sentiment with which I concur.” Jean-Luc took several more sips of his cabernet before remarking, “Beverly and I recently have had twins - a boy and a girl. I have nightmares considering the future, and about what kind of over-bearing father I will be to them…”

His whiskey fuelled Harriman’s boisterous laughing response. “You’ll be just fine, Jean-Luc. It’s the parents that don’t worry about such niceties who are the bad ones…” He stood, considered the man for a moment then suggested, “I hear tell that you host a cutthroat poker game now and then. I wouldn’t mind being invited… And you don’t have to invite Alynna if you don’t want to…”

Jean-Luc nodded his head. “I believe my stepson has actually won a hand or two against Alynna…” Jean-Luc was satisfied with the way this man’s eyes widened upon hearing this bit of information.

“I’d like to meet that kid…”

“I’ll make sure that you get the invitation to the next party,” Jean-Luc cordially agreed as he stood to shake the man’s hand again. With that, Jean-Luc decided that it was his turn to rescue his wife from the dreaded cocktail fuelled, clichéd conversations. And to reintroduce her to the quaint Risian custom of jamaharon for he was planning something special for their last day and night on Risa.

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

“Beverly…”

“Yes, darling?”

“Mon coeur… Would you like to try out our private holo-suite?”

“You are finally admitting to being inquisitive about its possibilities?”

“Well… we’ve paid for the entire suite and it is part of the hotel package…”

“Why, Jean-Luc… You are curious.”

“From your reaction, I gather that so are you…”

“Well, my husband, I must admit that I’ve been intrigued by some of the programs being offered. I’ve read the titles of some of those programs. They sound positively lurid. Vulcan, How Pon-Farr Will She Go? How Orion Pirates Train Their Slave Girls? Andorian Adoration or the Etiquette of How to Conduct a Foursome? Kling-ons? Nine Tight Orifices? The Empress and Every Single One of her Lusty Warriors?…”

“It sounds like you’ve memorized some of the titles…”

“Well, you know me, Jean-Luc. I am a scientist. I have a questioning nature.”

“That you most certainly do. Your ‘curiosity’ has been my beta noire on more than one occasion…”

“And when you factor in the Howard libido…”

“Ah, yes… The legendary Howard libido…”

“Jean-Luc, I do believe that Lwaxana might have mentioned a few of her favorite titles to me… We might investigate… In the interest of scientific research, of course…”

“Mon coeur, I think that I may not make it back to the Academy alive…”

　

Chapter Two:

　

Razzles.

Dazzles.

Quick step.

Pause.

Kick.

Twizzle.

Kick. Kick.

Shake.

Hip thrust.

Do it one more time.

Smile.

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

Beverly had not known what to make of Jean-Luc’s mood on this last full day of their vacation. Even as she had gone to the last (mandatory) meeting in the morning, she could tell from the moment that he’d served her a croissant and coffee in bed, that her husband was anticipating something. Plotting something… Besides the obvious, that is…

After the lecture, she’d come back to their suite to find him missing. And when she asked the computer where her husband was, she received a message from her spouse requesting her to be patient stating that all good things came to those who waited. Since sitting around and being patient was a virtue that Beverly had yet to thoroughly master, she shook off her bright yellow sundress with the red and purple Berengarian gaudy parrot pattern, threw her hot pink lace panties onto the closest lounge chair, kicked off her matching pink sandals, sighed over the fact that Jean-Luc had yet to see her wearing this set of bridal shower presents, and then executed a passable swan dive straight into the shimmering scented waters of their suite’s private pool. Though she did order the optional awning to extend over the entire pool area before she dove into the crystal blue topaz waters. She was not going to end up sunburned on the last day of her vacation.

While floating on her back, enjoying the sensations of the temperate water flowing over and caressing her naked body even as she paddled with languorous motions toward the beckoning jets of steamier water by the fall’s basin, she heard the melodious chiming notification of a message being received.

“Computer, play message.”

“Mon coeur… Mon déesse… Mon âme soeur…”

Beverly reacted instinctively to the seductive nuances of her husband’s baritone voice as he whispered sweet nothings in French. She was quite willing to be reminded of what being Jean-Luc’s wife was all about at this very moment. She really did not need her husband’s elaborate seduction set-up. Though, she had to silently admit to herself, that this was one of those rare occasions where Jean-Luc was in the mood to play…

And a playful Jean-Luc was something that always should be encouraged.

“…Please meet me at 1800 hours in our private holo-suite for dinner and dancing. Evening dress is optional.”

Her nipples automatically tightened upon hearing the slight emphasis that Jean-Luc placed on the word ‘dancing’. For Beverly knew that when she danced in private with Jean-Luc, their ‘dancing’ was but a prelude to passionate choreography that was solely their own.

She stood up in the shallow end of the pool and then climbed into the restorative therapeutic whirlpool. “Now, what does Jean-Luc mean by ‘evening dress is optional’?” she murmured to herself aloud. She considered the possibilities of entering the holo-suite buck naked. But then she decided that since Jean-Luc was obviously plotting something, she should make an effort as well.

It took Beverly over an hour to get ready. It wasn’t just her make-up that had consumed the time. It was actually trying to decide what to wear for her ‘date’ with her husband. She went from picking out some underwear from her remaining cache of bridal shower gifts to perusing the Risian shopping data base for an appropriate outfit. But then something occurred to Beverly. Her husband was a difficult, complex and at times, extraordinarily devious man. Since he had deliberately been uninformative as to the nature of their ‘date’, perhaps she should do a little sleuthing and uncover the nature of some of his planning.

After using the room’s terminal as well as her own padd, the only information that Beverly had discovered was what Jean-Luc planned on having served for dinner. She now knew the kind of non-syntheholic wines and even the name of the 20th century whiskey that her loving husband had arranged for their after dinner drinks. And then it dawned on her - 20th century BUSHMILLS?

Beverly thought that she had deduced what her husband was plotting.

A few minutes she gave up on trying to figure out how to order what she wanted from the replicators and called down to the boutique that was in the hotel lobby. A few minutes later, the head modiste and an assistant arrived to help Beverly design the perfect outfit.

And when she was ready, she examined herself in the tri-fold full standing mirror that was part of the suite’s dressing room. She was wearing a full-length Rossinian lace, very, very tight fitting sheath dress. Sans underslip. In short, under the soft almost skin-pink lace that covered her from neck to ankle, she was totally naked except for two black garters and a pair of dark rose lace stockings. The intricate lace provided a peek-a-boo coverage of her body that should sufficiently torment her husband with what it did - and did not - reveal. There was also a little detail of almost a hundred cloth buttons with loops down her sleeves and the entire length of the front of her torso. There was a particular tradition about this type of multi-button dress on Risa. If a lover was removing the dress, said lover had to press a kiss against the wearer’s body for every button that was unbuttoned. Beverly was looking forward to the implementation of this tradition with great anticipation.

She checked her ruby lacquer lipstick to make sure it was perfect, and then she placed her black evening hat on top of her flowing tresses, pulled down a black diamante lace veil to completely cover her face, admired the way that the veil made her smoky eye make-up seem even more mysterious and alluring, and then decided that she was ready for whatever the night would bring.

She then entered the holodeck. And she found the interior almost completely dark. There was one direct overhead spotlight above a small café table and a matching single chair. She assumed that this was where her husband wished her to sit. So she did, crossing her legs, well aware what the fabric stretching across her hips and thighs now emphasized in the spotlight. Her smile was one of sensual anticipation as she waited her husband’s reaction to her position.

And then she waited.

And waited.

Finally, a tall flute of her favorite champagne appeared, beamed into position onto her table top. It was followed by a small gueridon style champagne stand holding a chilled bottle of champagne as well. She did not bother to check the label. She just knew that it was a prime example of her husband’s family vineyards before she tasted her first sip of the bubbling wine. .

A brassy, blatantly sexy tune interrupted her wanton thoughts.

　

“Baby take off your coat..”

Hip. Thrust.

(Beat) (Beat)

“Real slow…”

Hip. Thrust.

“Yes, yes, yes…”

　

Beverly gasped, startled by what she could not believe she was seeing. She forced her sapphire blue orbs to refocus on a most impossible, very very improbable vision.

　

“Take off your shoes…”

Sizzle.

Twizzle.

Breathe.

“Let me take off your shoes…”

　

Jean-Luc was dancing! Right in front of her disbelieving eyes. He was coming from stage left, and angling himself toward her with every beat as a smoky grey curtained backdrop materialized on the stage. A black bowler hat was atop his pale face and a shocking red besequinned pair of kid skin gloves was most prominent from the pin lights against the black.

　

“You can leave your hat on…”

Razzles.

Dazzles.

Quick step.

Pause.

　

Jean-Luc stoically concealed his grin, even as he surreptitiously glanced in Beverly’s direction, pleased by what he could see of the astounded look on his bride’s face through the fancy net veil that she was wearing.

As he kick-slinked into her view, Jean-Luc was proud of the fact that he had truly surprised - if not shocked - his bride. He was not quite the ‘stick in the mud’ that Jean-Luc sometimes felt was Beverly’s secret opinion of him on occasion. With a flick of the wrist he divested himself of his right glove. He still hid his grin as he watched Beverly’s expression at this movement. If possible, she looked even more shaken than she had been a moment before. Then he rotated his hips in a very blatant, sexual manner, followed by a groin thrust that was a very vulgar act. And this action was completely unanticipated by his bride. He stilled for a moment, gauged her reaction to a repeat of it, and then he removed his other glove and tossed it in her direction. She instinctively caught it even as she was having a bit of difficulty in the propping up of her jaw.

　

“You can leave your hat on…”

Kick.

Twizzle.

Kick. Kick.

Bump.

Hip thrust.

Grind.

Do it one more time.

Smile.

　

So far, he was pleased by the results of his dance even if he was sweating profusely now. The leotard was too tight and it was becoming stickier with his continuing movements. And as his muscles protested his kicks and hip gyrations in spite of his earlier practices; never again would he make the mistake of thinking that dancing was not really ‘exercise’. Fortunately he had been wise enough to never give loud voice of such an opinion to Beverly, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she had some how learned of his original, negative judgment anyway, probably due to that occasionally accursed KesPrytt incident and its still continuing aftereffects.

Beverly studied Jean-Luc’s costume deciding that her husband clearly wasn’t planning on wearing it for too long. It looked uncomfortable. But it was very sexy on him. Probably because it was also a very, very skin tight black leotard. In short, the painted-on appearance of the outfit emphasized every muscle of Jean-Luc’s toned physique. Including his aroused cock. She couldn’t help but viscerally respond to this sight.

Beverly’s eyes widened as she eventually realized the Jean-Luc’s dance moves were based on the classic Bob Fosse style of choreography with a bit of Elaanian thruster style throw in. In short, it was all about striking angled poses, vigorous hip and groin thrusts, all with a preciseness of foot movement. Beverly deduced that Jean-Luc had really been practicing this routine to Joe Cocker’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On” for more days than their short time on Risa. And she was even more pleased and touched by his plotting, thoughtfulness and inventiveness than she would have dreamed. He was a constant, amazing surprise to her.

And then her thoughts developed an evil bent… How could he possibly top this anniversary present six months from now? Her grin held an anticipatory glint as she considered Jean-Luc’s dilemma long before such a damning thought would ever even occur to him. But enough about the future. As her personal reward to him for his originality, she was going to enjoy tormenting him so many different ways tonight…

Beverly sipped her champagne as she enjoyed watching her personal master of the universe strut about the stage. She had never quite imagined that Jean-Luc would have such a cheeky inventiveness in him. And that he would have the guts to act upon it. The man on the stage was a universe away from the formal, contemplative captain who had once sat upon the Enterprise’s ‘big chair’. He was changing in order to please her. And this was something that she had always assumed he would not do. Now she knew better. She also recognized that she was even more in love with him now, than she had ever been before. And he had been the true, great love of her life for many years already.

When the music finally ended, Beverly rose from her chair, even as she kept clapping her hands. Jean-Luc stood in the middle of the stage under a spot, a bit more winded than even he was willing to admit, though he was doing his best to hide this fact from his wife.

“I take it that my efforts met with my lady’s approval?” he too-casually asked even as he watched his beloved deliberately flounce her hips as she sashayed toward him.

Beverly stepped up onto the stage and for the first time this night, positioned herself directly under a spotlight. And it was only then that Jean-Luc got a true glimpse as to what Beverly was wearing. And what the light was now highlighting. His eyes dropped as he took in all the temping, mysterious shadows and emblazoned curves. He duly noted that her nipples were pebbling against the lace.

Leaning close to him, she whispered the instructions about her dress’ buttons.

Beverly only grinned some more as she observed her husband’s somewhat stunned reaction to her gown. She then decided that it was time for a more overt action. She slowly, deliberately stepped closer to him. Her sinuous movements revealed her intent. He responded. Fire flared in her veins as she surveyed the condition of his body. And his cock. The very sight of him was arousing. And her body was responding to all of it.

And then he was in her arms, being crushed into one of the most passionate kisses that she had ever bestowed upon him as she backed him up against a stage column. When he could gasp a tortured breath, he reciprocated in kind. And when the time came, he did leave his hat on…

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

Carefully the fingernail traced the curves and planes of his manhood, only scratching the flesh as if to just inspect, but not to hurt or to deliberately, immediately arouse. She wasn’t intentionally trying to provoke him at the moment, though this mutually self-indulgent evening with her husband was far from finished. She was simply exploring his body as if it were an unknown, foreign territory at the moment; a territory that she wished to passionately analyze - as if to memorize every square centimeter of its terrain.

She licked her lips.

He did nothing to impede her progress. Delicately she moved her forefinger over the velveteen flesh of his shaft, as if to physically inspect and test each sinew and muscle; every stimulated nerve within her reach. When she reached his scrotum, her finger paused, as if it did not quite know where to touch next. For a brief moment she felt him tense as her finger rested against his balls, lightly caressing them. She tapped one and then observed that he was not yet strongly aroused. But by the way he was slowly responding though, he was approaching the stiffness that she would eventually demand. Smiling, she progressed with her inspection and assessment of his manly attributes.

“Like what you see?” he quietly asked as he clenched again, trying to prevent tired muscles from immediately responding.

“I always did,” she teased as her fingers worked its way toward his inner thigh.

“Tsk, tsk, doctor. Is that a confession of improper thoughts toward your former commanding officer?” He shifted his left leg a bit to give her easier access to his buttocks. And he was then rewarded with a caress on his cheek. He liked that immediately.

“Oh Jean-Luc, I have always had quite a few improper thoughts toward your body - especially when I personally did your physicals. I just couldn’t do anything about it back on the Enterprise.” She moved her hand to his shaft, encircled the flesh with her fingers, stroking the not-quite flaccid flesh now, several times, and decided that she was pleased with his continuing response.

Ignoring what she was doing to him - at least for the moment - he pondered her words. “Am I the only one?”

“The only one what?” Her mind was on other things now as she considered where she should start licking him.

“For whom you had improper thoughts?”

She released his cock and sat up gazing down upon him even as she moved aside more of the lavender scented silk sheets on their massive, gilt framed bed, that were threatening to entangle her legs.

“Jean-Luc! I was always a doctor first, even when I performed a physical upon a particularly fine specimen of the male of our species.” Jean-Luc did not consider this answer to be satisfactory. She could tell that by the way his eyebrows rose. “The health and well-fare of my patient always came first with me.”

“I’m not specifically questioning your dedication to your duty, Beverly.” He deduced that the look that she sent his way was not exactly a death-glare, but it appeared to be close to one. “I just was wondering…”

“…if I had prurient thoughts toward other men that I have seen naked?”

“Something like that,” he not-too-graciously, and not-quite-jealously admitted.

She laughed. It was a light sound, but it was not exactly pleasant. “I’m a Howard, remember? Of course there were times when I may have made a comparison or two…”

“Comparison?” He did not like the sound of that! “To whom?”

“Well, sometimes, to Riker…”

He grunted. He wasn’t exactly surprised by that admittance considering the man’s interstellar lothario reputation. But considering Beverly’s convoluted relationship with his former Number One, he also was not exactly pleased.

As if discerning the direction of his thoughts, she grinned. She rather liked the idea of Jean-Luc being jealous.

Jean-Luc noted that it was her trademark smile of bedevilment - and he had foolishly created the situation all by his lonesome self. He frowned.

But she just had to explain. “But then, with Will, it was only when he was being Odan.” Sotto voce, she added, “Or his typical self…”

He still heard. That bit of information did not make him feel any better in the slightest. “Still, you looked?” he pestered.

Beverly decided that she was now officially exasperated with her husband. “Jean-Luc, I am a doctor. Of course, I looked! I would be derelict in my duty if I did not thoroughly examine my patient.”

“Oh.” She was going to play the ‘professional’ card on him. He just knew it.

She found his response to be unsatisfactory. “What you really want to know is if I did compare them to you, don’t you?”

Jean-Luc had not forgotten how to give his bride his own version of a ‘death’ glare. And then he realized that she was implying that there was more than ‘one’.

Her patience was beginning to wear thin. “Jean-Luc, it was Will who came up short, so to speak, in comparison with you.”

Jean-Luc could not help but be mollified by this interesting bit of invasion of Will’s privacy. But his bride was not done speaking.

“But one of my nurses, on the other hand, must have a very happy wife…”

Jean-Luc Picard then did something that he rarely did. He rolled his eyes, exasperated with his bride - which was not a condition he was expecting to be in this last night of their anniversary honeymoon.

As if she knew that her teasing might have crossed a line, she swooped, draping her hair over his phallus, sweeping the silken golden red strands around and about his genitals. And before he could grumble, hot, searching lips were now sucking on the very tip of his cock. Bliss threatened. As the blood flowed, and his phallus surged, he could no longer think coherently. Which was a state of consciousness to which Beverly often brought him, even when she wasn’t performing fellatio.

However he had other intentions for the remainder of this night - mutual pleasuring being foremost amongst them. He remembered his agenda. He moved suddenly pushing Beverly so that she landed backward amongst the satin down-filled pillows with a decided oomph. A feather poofed upward and then began a slow descent back to its origin. His grin was wicked as he was struck with another inspiring thought as to how to pleasure his woman. For he had discovered a cache of long, soft pinkish Qoy quills by their bedside during their first day on Risa. He reached for one.

Beverly ignored the long feather even as she tingled in response to the sensual promise in Jean-Luc’s expression. She wasn’t exactly ticklish, but there was a crafty look to Jean-Luc’s expression that caused some concern. Jean-Luc did not often suggest ‘toys’ during their lovemaking sessions. Still, there was that look in his eye… She cautioned, “Jean-Luc!”

His smile only broadened. “Let me pleasure you, mon coeur.”

“Uh…” She scooted away from him just a bit.

His response was to capture a breast with his hand. And to suck every centimeter of it before nipping her furled nipple. “Together!” he explained, as he turned his attention to the other breast, circling the tip with his thumb. And then he brought the feather into play on her nipples and elsewhere. He stroked the downy softness all over her skin before he moved her thighs apart. A minute later she was moaning in frustrated pleasure as he explored her channel with the feather. Waves of feeling flowed from where he was tickling her clitoris.

Sensing that she was getting close to coming, he commanded again, “Together,” as he dropped the feather and then kissed her inner thigh, moving upward trailing kisses.

She took his statement as a demand even as an ever-growing heat spread throughout her body. She struggled to temporarily remove herself from his addictive touching. “Why?” she demanded as he eased away from her. The hottest of passions ebbed. For she had been so close…

This question - and the brittle note to her voice - abruptly halted his quest to give her ecstasy. “What?”

“Why do you always have to do things your way? Why can’t I be in charge now and then?”

The second time that night he rolled his eyes as he recognized that this was a serious, albeit highly inaccurate question. For he could think of many instances when he let Beverly be in charge...

And then it dawned on him. The metaphoric anvil clobbered him on his noggin. He let Beverly. Part of his ego still thought that he was Beverly’s commanding officer in all things. He mentally conceded his error to himself even as he shuddered to somewhat bring under control his body and mind though his cock was protesting rather a bit at this attempt of restraint.

He rolled over onto his side, gasping for full, steadying breaths before he flicked his fingers toward his cock rampant, and then simply announced, “As you wish, mon coeur.”

Beverly contemplated a few possibilities. And though there were many that she might have considered, her body had a need of its own. Though the feather had been interesting, its continued use would be something to be explored at a future love making session. She contemplated its use as she envisioned her husband in handcuffs; restrained, as she took pleasure in torturing Jean-Luc’s cock with the feather. Her corresponding grin translated itself into a further plans for her husband’s manhood. She sighed with pleasure at these future thoughts.

As for what she currently felt, as a doctor, Beverly always tried to listen to what her body was telling her. Her smile was sinful as she picked her pleasure.

Silken thighs, dampened with her moistness, slid over both sides of his hips pressuring them. Full breasts with pointed nipples bounced tantalizingly close to Jean Luc’s expectant lips. A moment later, Beverly had mounted him, taking him deep within her body, hilting him fully within her sensitized channel. She relished this moment - the fullness of him and the maleness of him - before she began to slowly, purposefully ride him as her hips rotated from side to side as well as with the upward and downward motion that she particularly appreciated. Judging by the expression on Jean-Luc’s face and his groaning, he was of a similar opinion as well. She was determinedly pacing herself as she rode him, sinking deeper onto his cock with every down stroke. Oh, the joy of him! She shifted so that her clitoris was directly stimulated by his manhood, moving continuously quicker with each of these strokes. A few minutes later her orgasm burst through her veins - a brief but intensely juddering rush of response. And she stopped moving for a moment as almost overwhelming sensations flowed through both of them.

Jean-Luc watched as she did the work. His obvert reaction to her lovemaking was to hold her lightly in place on top of his groin. His orgasm was almost secondary to the feelings aroused by his watching. He always loved to observe her physical reaction to pleasure whenever he could during their lovemaking. It wasn’t just an affirmation of his love for her, though that was a very important factor of his giving her pleasure. No, there was a part of his soul, hidden very deep within his conscience, that rejoiced in the fact that finally, he had been given permission - and absolution - to give Beverly pleasure. That it was his right and privilege to do so. There was a surfeit of need from far too many lonely, unfulfilled years which had yet to be assuaged.

Finally…

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

She was sore. He knew it. But that didn’t stop him from trying to soothe her very tired flesh with the caress of his tongue. Still, she was wincing as he laved her. Lifting his head up high enough from her red pubic curls and the ivory pink frame of her thighs, he whispered, “Mon coeur?”

“I’m getting old,” she announced with a rueful smile. “I don’t seem to have the energy…”

“Speak for yourself,” he countered before he pushed himself upward into a kneeling position. Then he smiled down at her as he examined her nakedness. There was a look about her as if she was a very well-pleasured woman, though this inspection included noting the chafing redness, nibbling bite marks and all of the other little wounds that lovers could inflict upon each other.

“You look a little love-worn yourself,” she responded, as she observed what she had bitten and where she had scratched.

“I’ll go get your medical kit,” he stated, as he stood and went over to a half-open bag that resided on one of the many opulent, padded benches that were positioned about the bedroom. He brought the kit back and proceeded to use it quickly healing all the superficial wounds that they had inflicted on each other during their marital sexual marathon.

“Then you’ll resume the position?” she teasingly suggested even as she sat up in bed, swinging her legs over the side of it, shoving aside a jumbled sticky mess of red satin sheets and shams after they had finished using the dermal regenerator on each other.

He sent a glare toward her, fully acknowledging the existence of the Howard libido before he nodded. “But let’s move to the pools. And get the servobot to change the sheets. Again.” He then instructed the suite’s computer to do just that.

“Pink silk,” Beverly called out just for the fun of it, knowing that Jean-Luc would remember the pink sheets from their honeymoon night. He growled. She grinned. And then she stretched for a moment as she waited for Jean-Luc to pick her up as was his custom during one of their lovers’ endurance trials.

Carrying his bride in his arms, Jean-Luc went through the sliding open doors into their private garden. He paused to admire the beautiful night by glancing up at the stars. He paused to admire what he could see of the beautiful woman in his arms from the dancing light of the many flickering torchiere flames. He pressed a soft, promising kiss onto the lips of his wife. And then he smiled down at his wife before he dropped Beverly into the pool.

He dove into the pool after her, positioning himself to the side of her before she could recover enough from her dunking to retaliate.

Beverly rose to the surface of the temperate, floral scented waters, determined to get revenge then realized how he had anticipated her reaction by his location to her. Swimming toward her husband with the sweetest smile on her face that she could muster, she silently vowed to get even with him when he would be least expecting it. But not right now.

She intimately brushed by his cock before she swam over to the ledge by the waterfall, and climbed onto it, swinging her legs so that she splashed water about - but mainly in his direction. She beckoned him toward her. “Darling, I do believe that you have some unfinished business…,” she hinted as she spread her legs.

“Oui, mon coeur,” Jean-Luc grinned as he returned to kissing Beverly just the way she liked it whenever he caressed her labia with his tongue. When it came time to suck, her mewling moans of orgasm were reward enough for this husband.

　

=‘/\’= =‘/\’= =‘/\’=

　

He was ramming into her, pounding away with an energy which Beverly could not quite believe he was capable of doing, considering how many times this night they had already made love. Still, she wasn’t complaining even as she braced her body against a lounge cushion. She was on her back, with her legs wrapped about his waist, as her husband stood on a lower step of the pool fucking away quite enthusiastically. Evidently, their dip in the pool had bestowed upon her husband a third wind. It certainly had revived her as she felt certain familiar, anticipatory pleasures continue to build in her loins.

She found the strength to raise her hand to tweak her nipple since she sensed that her husband might be enjoying himself too much at the moment to pay attention to her breasts. But he surprised her by changing the angle of his thrusting so that her hip was leveraged in place against the edge of the pool, in order for him to lift his left hand to pinch her other nipple. She moaned her pleasure that this change of position brought.

A few more minutes of this and she just knew she wouldn’t survive the orgasm that was coming. It would be too intense… Too glorious…

Suddenly he pulled her flush against his chest, embracing and lifting her body tightly into his. She raised her eyes to his. He only smiled, carrying her as he walked up the few steps out of the pool, before he carefully placed her on the cushion of a chaise lounge whose tropical pattern was loud enough to even glow in the dark.

“On your knees and elbows, mon coeur,” he ordered.

Although there were many times when Beverly would protest a husbandly command, this moment was not one of them. She obligingly shifted her body even as he stepped back slightly, to give her room to do so. Though he still kept his hands on her. For Jean-Luc would always touch Beverly intimately whenever he could do so.

A moment later he thrust into her from behind, even as he again admired the ass that had captured his attention too many decades ago. Never mind that her body had changed since she was a resident. That her hips were larger and that there was a bit more flesh to her thighs - it didn’t matter to Jean-Luc. For this was Beverly’s ass. There was something about seeing his cock sliding in and out between her thighs as he palmed her cheeks and hips, that was his ultimate, personal erotic thrill.

He bent over her some more so that one hand could continue to play with her breasts, and the other searched out her clit, stroking and twisting it with a sensual knowledge.

Bracing into him, Beverly could only feel at the moment, as waves and waves of pure pleasure washed over her. Her orgasm was still building though. His cadence changed turning into lunges rather than the previous long-measured strokes. Her anticipation grew even as she forced herself to react, turning her head to rest on a throw pillow so that she could watch his expression. She tried to control the internal clenching of her body to match his ragged thrusting.

And then her bliss peaked. Sheer joy flooded her veins even as with a triumphant cry, he flooded her channel with his spend. He collapsed upon her, sweaty flesh impressed on to sweaty flesh. And when her mind was coherent enough to think again, she revelled in the feeling of his body on hers.

He groaned, shifted himself onto his side, and then pulled her onto her side, her back flat up against his chest, spooning contentedly with her.

“That was…,” she barely was able to gasp.

He finished her sentence. “Incroyable…”

“Spectaculaire…,” she agreed as she nestled closer to him.

A long time later, both lovers were floating on mats, brushing up against each other by the shallow end of the pool. There bodies were bumping, every now and then.

“Had enough?” she teased, as her idle hand went from playing on the water to stroking her husband’s nearby thigh.

“Never,” he quickly responded, even as his idle hand brushed against her ribs before he drifted off for just a bit.

She slipped off of her raft, and kicked her way over to him, lightly clutching the edge of his raft. “Darling, unless I am greatly mistaken, in about six hours I have the conference closing breakfast to attend.” She kissed his shoulder. “I need sleep.”

He slid off of his raft, reaching for her body, to pull her flush up against him even as he stood up. “Ah, but your cabana boy does not have to attend said breakfast. I can sleep in.” His teeth gleamed in the torch light as she suddenly understood his implication.

“Oh no, Jean-Luc. I really do need my sleep. I’m exhausted.”

“You can catch up on your sleep during the three days on our voyage back to Earth,” he not-too-innocently suggested.

“Good.” Suddenly, her expression turned positively lascivious. “For I find that I am suddenly not that tired after all…,” she explained as she dragged her husband into shallower waters and then proceeded to have her wicked way with him.

Hours later as they both finally resided on only slightly rumpled rose pink silk sheets, Beverly got around to informing Jean-Luc, “By the way, Alynna has formally requested that my Admiral cabana boy attend the closing ceremonies.

He barely had the strength to swat her with a pillow.

　

　

THE END FOR NOW

　

A.N.: I will be posting, fairly soon, a major novella called “Detached - His Story”. Though all of the other “Life with…” stories are at various stages of completion, this next Jean-Luc novel has been consuming my muse for more than a decade as well as over the past few months. And, like all writers, one has to follow one’s muse.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　


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